Fractures
by multithreading
Summary: Post Trinity. Things must be broken before they can be fixed. Eventual McShep, much whumping.


**Title:** Fractures (1/4)  
**Pairings:** McKay/Sheppard  
**Spoilers:** Season 2, _Trinity_. Mild for _Condemned_ and _The Hive_.**  
Notes:** This bunny bit and wouldn't let go. Admittedly AU, though I haven't yet seen the episodes directly after Trinity. Must somehow convince the TV networks to play more SGA reruns. Feedback is love.

* * *

Elizabeth Weir did not trust herself to force the confrontation until a good day had passed since the incident. Even then, it was only the crushing realization of duty, that if she didn't do this then nobody else would, that drove her to make those final steps to the door and knock smartly. 

There was a brief, horrible moment in which she felt that Sheppard wouldn't answer, and then the door swished open.

Elizabeth stepped inside, and immediately felt assaulted by the dark. The feeling only worsened as the door clicked shut behind her, and she blinked, trying to figure out why Sheppard hadn't turned on the lights. Vaguely, she thought she could discern his form sprawled over the bed, with one arm draped across his face. He didn't even blink when she walked inside the room, only tossed off a grunt that she supposed passed as a hello.

"Colonel Sheppard," she said, hoping that her tentative grasp on the words she had practiced so many times would remain. She would approach the situation calmly and rationally. They would discuss what had happened, and then discuss how to proceed.

Yet all these plans were quickly dismissed when he held up a hand. "If you're going to yell at me, let's just go to your office."

"No," she said, quietly. "I wasn't going to."

"Uh, okay," he said, sounding puzzled.

All the words she had practiced, all her diplomatic eloquence, had deserted her completely in face of Sheppard's unusual quiet. This was a side of the man she so rarely saw: the vulnerable John Sheppard, the one who wasn't the cocky, relaxed military commander. She realized now that though Rodney's arrogance seemed quite resilient, this situation would not be so easily resolved.

She sighed and walked further into the room, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "John," she said, reversing her formality of earlier. "We need to talk."

"Are we breaking up?" came the dry retort. A few second later, his face pulled in a pained grimace. "Sorry. McKay's bad jokes must be rubbing off."

How did you heal a breaking heart? Elizabeth thought, staring into those gaunt features that she had once known so well. She had always known that John and Rodney had developed a strong friendship, but she wondered if either of them had known precisely how strong it was until it had been fractured.

"You feel guilty," she said.

John didn't answer.

"And you're angry because of that."

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his hazel eyes dark and foreboding. "Look, I know I'm not great with the emotions, but that isn't it. McKay – he manipulated – " he broke off, clearly unable to say it.

Unable, or unwilling? Elizabeth felt a glimmer of hope.

"John, I – " she said, but bit off her words when he moved.

"Don't."

She looked at him, _really_ looked at him, and observed that unshaven jaw, clenched tight, the fingernail marks on his palm, and the glimmering, unwavering look in his eyes, as though he was doggedly keeping himself together through act of sheer will. Was this why he had turned off the lights? Elizabeth tried to imagine herself in his position. She would have felt angry. Betrayed. McKay had asked him for his trust, and John had given it. He had laid his life on the line because he had trusted McKay, and yet McKay had treated that gift almost carelessly, placing his own ego above the life of his closest friend. It was the way Rodney was and had always been, but John must have expected something more. Deep inside of him, he must have believed that when push came to shove, his friendship could somehow change Rodney on that fundamental level – but it hadn't.

She bowed her head and looked back at her hands. "I need to know that your interactions with him will remain professional."

A pause. "They will."

She met his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow.

"What, I'm a great actor."

She smiled; she couldn't help it. But it was a wistful sort of smile, the sort of smile that came from knowing that even if the light-hearted comments were still there, they were only perfunctory at best, a shield to hide the deeper hurts.

* * *

Two. Four. Six.

_She'll move left. _

Sheppard drew in a ragged breath as he followed Teyla's movements with his eyes, his mind processing the angle of her arm, anticipating her next move, and deciding his own. He knew that when she fought she moved out of instinct, because she seemed so attuned to her surroundings that she knew precisely how her opponent would move. Sheppard lacked that same skill, and so was forced to rely on his innate sense of strategy. Fortunately, once he had improved his skill with the fighting sticks, he had become quite good at it.

On days when he was paying attention, that is.

Sheppard gasped in pain as she rapped him smartly on the right arm, twisted past his circle of defense, and struck him again on the left shoulder. Then she was whirling away, sticks held up at guard.

"You could defeat that move a month ago, Colonel," she reprimanded gently.

He massaged the sore spot, thinking vaguely that it would bruise.

"Lucky shot," he said, picking up the sticks again and circling to face her.

"You are not at your best today."

He flashed a brief smile, a pale shadow of the former John Sheppard. "After this, let's give it a try the Earth way. We can borrow Ronan's stunner. It'll be like paintball on crack, and with Chewie after us both for stealing his gun."

Teyla merely raised an eyebrow and advanced on him, but Sheppard had stopped. He was staring rigidly at some spot behind her left shoulder, feeling as though every cell in his body had turned to ice – cold, and unforgiving.

McKay. The scientist was standing in the doorway, shuffling a bit on his feet and looking more anxious than usual. Sheppard hadn't seen the other man since their last confrontation, right before he had stepped inside that transporter and punched in the first location he could see. It had taken him a good hour out of his way, but it had been worth it to escape.

He gave a weak wave, and though Teyla acknowledged with a nod of her head, McKay's eyes remained firmly fixed on Sheppard. Sheppard stared stonily back.

"I – I just wondered if – " McKay said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Yes, Rodney?" Teyla prompted gently, and Sheppard was distantly aware that she was looking at both of them with obvious concern. Did she know about the shit, the stupid God-awful, completely fucked up shit, that had been their last mission? There was a military word for that sort of thing: FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition. But even that acronym, that stupid acronym that sounded more like one of those demonic, talking furry toys kids had once been crazy about, wasn't enough to describe their latest mission.

His jaw tightened as he restrained several responses.

"I thought I should practice," McKay said, very quietly, no longer looking at either one of them.

"You are volunteering for physical combat training?" Teyla blinked.

McKay nodded.

"No," Sheppard said curtly. McKay sucked at this sort of thing, in the sort of way that a piñata sucked at fighting back. Hell, he could give McKay a P-90, and still be able to knock him to the ground before McKay managed to open his eyes and aim the damn gun.

McKay's jaw jutted out stubbornly. "You have to let me try."

Sheppard just raised an eyebrow.

For one long second, it seemed McKay would leave. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dimmed. Yet then some spark seemed to flare brilliantly to life, and he stepped into the room, evidently undeterred by the intensity of Sheppard's glare.

Teyla hesitated, her eyes flying between the two men, a tacit inquiry. Sheppard was already shaking his head, but she looked away as she handed her fighting sticks to McKay.

A cold anger swept through Sheppard, and he forcibly grounded his own fighting sticks. What was Teyla even _thinking_? Oh yeah, sure it was great that she didn't believe he was capable of causing McKay great bodily harm, but he didn't share in that confidence. And really, the last thing Atlantis needed right now was for her military commander to beat the shit out of her Head of Science.

McKay swallowed hard as one of the sticks rolled noisily to his feet, but he didn't make a move to pick it up. "Colonel – "

"If you want to practice," Sheppard said, through clenched teeth, "then practice with Teyla."

"No."

"Then get out."

"_No._"

Turning sharply, Sheppard headed for the door, but McKay leapt in front of him. His blue eyes were wide, wide with apprehension, dismay, trepidation even. What was this? McKay loathed physical activity of any sort, and had always studiously avoided the team practice sessions like the plague. To have him volunteer now, _now_ of all times –

Sheppard wasn't an idiot. He knew what McKay secretly wanted from this confrontation. Perhaps he thought this was some schoolyard fight sort of thing, where they could throw a few punches and shelve the matter behind them.

"Stand aside, McKay. _Now_."

The other man simply raised his chin and looked at him, his expression both wary and defiant. Sheppard's hands, so tightly held at his side that he felt like a board, trembled just the slightest bit.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Teyla moving forward, looking distinctly alarmed. Despite himself, Sheppard was glad to see that worry on her face. At least now she recognized the sheer stupidity of her actions, the sheer stupidity of all actions that came from listening to Rodney McKay.

"Rodney," she said quietly, firmly.

But McKay didn't appear to hear. All his attention was focused on Sheppard, and though he looked nervous, there was a steely sort of resolve in the way he held himself. Sheppard knew that resolve; had admired it, even. Despite what outward appearances and superficial actions might seem to imply, McKay was not weak.

Sheppard forced a pleasant smile. "You're on a roll, McKay. I think this is your second – " his face contorted – "_brilliant_ idea in a week."

Though nothing changed in McKay's face, it was as if he had wilted completely. Sheppard pushed past him without further resistance, and was almost at the door when McKay spoke, his tone soft, completely unlike his usual bluster, and filled with remorse.

"An eye for an eye, Colonel. I just wanted to give you the chance to…hit me. To hurt me the way I hurt you."

Unbidden, Sheppard's throat was closing up, and it seemed to take all his strength to turn around and look at McKay – a _defeated_ version of McKay. This was the one person he might as well have volunteered to go to hell and back with, and now it was clear that hell had burnt them both and laughed while doing so.

_I just wanted to give you a chance to hit me. To hurt me the way I hurt you… _

"How's this?" he said coolly, and then turned, opened the door, and walked away.

Maybe they'd never left hell at all.

* * *

Sheppard wasn't sure where he was headed as he stormed from the practice room. He was walking at first, his face flushed with equal parts guilt and anger, but that wasn't alleviating anything. So he broke into a jog, and then a run, needing to feel the pounding of his feet against the hard ground, wanting to double over and wheeze, somehow sweat this pain, exorcise this hurt from his system.

Several of the marines gave him startled looks and hastily snapped salutes as he surged past them, but Sheppard didn't give a damn. Let them think whatever they wanted. It was one of the good things about being in command.

When he passed Ronan, however, the other man hardly even blinked. Instead he calmly polished off the Powerbar that he was eating, crumpled the wrapper, tossed it over his shoulder, and then began running as well. The two ran in silence for a bit, moving to a more deserted portion of the city. Sheppard's breath grew increasingly labored, his features were contorted in pain from the multiple stitches in his side that screamed with every step, but he refused to stop. Eventually, even Ronan could no longer disguise that this wasn't a simple walk at the beach, and his breathing became rough.

At last John's legs gave out and he pitched forward, barely managing a grunt as he hit the ground hard, the kamikaze momentum sending him rolling wildly. He lay on his back, staring at the blue sky, his head spinning, his body dazed and utterly spent. God, he hurt. Every pound of his heart sent a wave of pain through him, and his world kept sliding in and out of focus, swirling, canting, like he was falling into a depthless dark. He might have believed it if he weren't already pressed flat on the ground.

_Just one second! _

Ronan dropped to a crouch next to him, those dark eyes inquiring.

Sheppard groaned, and tried to get to his feet, but the world tilted before him and he was slumping backward again. This idea had been moronic. Somehow that was always more obvious after the fact.

"Easy, Sheppard," Ronan rumbled, even as Sheppard retched air.

"Yeah – just – a little out of - breath."

_I can't shut it down! _

They stayed like that for several minutes, or possibly even several hours. Winded, Sheppard stared numbly at the blue sky, thinking of the stars there, the other worlds. He would have never forgiven himself if those worlds in that solar system had been inhabited. The first thing he had done upon arrival back in Atlantis was check that – twice. And then twice more.

The thought drew him up short. Was Elizabeth right? Did he feel _guilty?_

"An entire fucking solar system, that's what he destroyed," he said, not really aware that he was speaking aloud.

Ronan's brows drew together, but Sheppard's mind was already who-knew-how-many light-years away.

Guilty? No. _No_.

He'd _trusted_ McKay, and the other man had thrown it back in his face, like how one might trod all over the Declaration of Independence with muddy boots, and then throw the thing into the trash. Because quite simply, John had given up on trusting people. It'd always blown up back in his face somehow. He piloted in Antarctica because it was the furthest he could get from people. The fewer people you were around, the fewer tried to force trust down your throat.

_Trust me._

But angry and betrayed as he felt, Sheppard couldn't forget the look on Rodney's face when he had turned and left.

* * *

When he put his mind to it, John Sheppard was quite adept at strategizing. He sat now in his room, pen to a sundry pile of papers that he hoped weren't of importance to anyone, and tried to think out McKay's usual schedule. He did not want to risk bumping into the other man again, not until he'd had enough time to cool off.

So far he had three locations. Room. Lab. Cafeteria.

Under normal circumstances, he was certain those were the only places McKay would be, but these were not normal circumstances. Undoubtedly McKay would seek him out. Perhaps he was even in his room or the lab or the cafeteria right now penning out a list of Sheppard's most frequent haunts.

Well, Sheppard would just have to do one better.

Where were the places that he would never, ever go unless under the most extraordinary of circumstances?

His first thought was the ladies' restroom, but he quickly dismissed that. He could just imagine Elizabeth's reaction, the raised eyebrow, the exasperated tone as she asked, "Is _this_ your idea of professional, Colonel?" Clearly the ladies' restroom wouldn't do.

Sheppard idly tapped the pen against the stack of papers as he thought it over, running through every possible location he could think of. The Jumper Bay was too obvious, the training rooms were all clearly out, and Sheppard didn't wish to spend several hours alone in a room with some beeping consoles that didn't even have a decent game on them. Why hadn't the Ancients come up with something as simple as Solitaire? But if he narrowed it down like that, then there weren't very many places he could go. He needed somewhere mildly interesting, and yet somewhere he would never go unless absolutely forced…

He smiled. He knew precisely the place.

* * *

"For goodness' sakes, Colonel Sheppard!" Carson Beckett cried out, as he turned around and nearly tripped over the other man for what felt like the umpteenth time that afternoon. "Don't ye have somewhere to be?"

Sheppard summoned his most contrite look. "Just picking up some medical knowledge for the field."

He could tell that Doctor Beckett wasn't fooled, but the Scot wasn't the sort of man who glared at you and flung you out of the infirmary. Instead he simply tossed up his hands in frustration and stepped around Sheppard, already busying himself with whatever new project he was on. Sheppard wandered over to a complex looking model on the table, a whole mesh of different colored wires and thumbtack like objects, and couldn't resist reaching out a hand to touch it.

"Colonel Sheppard, _please_!" he heard Beckett's pained cry.

Sheppard quickly withdrew his hand and smiled again, with a casual roll of his shoulders to indicate that he hadn't touched the thing – yet.

"Your version of professional?" came a dry voice from the infirmary door.

Both men swung around, one looking immensely relieved, the other scrupulously innocent.

"Helpful," Sheppard asserted.

Beckett snorted.

"That falls under 'not helpful,'" Sheppard said, throwing Beckett a wounded look.

He thought for a moment that Elizabeth would roll her eyes, but she was too good a leader to give into such inclinations. Instead she simply graced Beckett with an apologetic smile, and then waved him over. Her voice was low and measured, not quite a reprimand, but a warning all the same. "Colonel Sheppard, I shouldn't even have to tell you that what Dr. Beckett is doing is of utmost importance."

"I wasn't doing anything."

She _looked_ at him.

"Much," Sheppard amended. "Look, then you need to get me off-world. There has to be some gate that I could check out."

She pursed her lips. "I have numerous accounts saying that you were limping around yesterday."

His expression closed off immediately. "I don't limp. I _saunter_."

Elizabeth looked at him searchingly for a moment, though searching what precisely he didn't know, before turning and walking back in the direction of the control room. Recognizing the tacit invitation, Sheppard fell into step next to her. "I don't suppose you want to talk about it."

"No."

"He hurt you, John. It's okay to admit that."

"I said I _didn't_ want to talk about it."

They walked in a tense silence for a few steps, and then Elizabeth sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Forget it." In all honesty, Sheppard wasn't angry, or even irritated that she had pursued the conversation. Instead he thought that he would have almost welcomed an argument, a bickering of sorts. He had never quite realized how quiet his life was without McKay constantly there, constantly finding some new well of complaints, or spouting about some silly little equation about what _delta B_ equaled and why it was worth actually spending time to mull over those different letters of the alphabet tossed together in a variety of ways.

McKay had hurt him, yes, but he'd hurt him back – because he'd thought that he wanted Rodney out of his life. He'd thought that he was fed up with the arrogance, the complaints, the excited physics babble, but now he felt a void where all that had been. Like it or not, it had become a part of his life, a part that he now found that he…missed?

But no. McKay had hurt him, he had hurt McKay, and now that part of his life was over. In time, he was sure the anger would fade, and perhaps he would even trust McKay again just as he'd told him, but never again would it be quite the same.

* * *

Sheppard was eating dinner with Teyla when the call came.

"Colonel Sheppard, this is Weir. Control room, now."

The urgency in that summons was obvious, and Sheppard snapped to his feet. Teyla rose to her feet as well, a question forming on her lips, but he didn't notice. Instead he touched his radio, gave a quick affirmation, and hurried for the nearest transporter. Weir never, ever kidded around with stuff like this, and Sheppard had known her long enough to sense when she was _really_ worried.

When he arrived in the room, his worst feelings were only confirmed: Elizabeth was standing grimly, staring at the deep space sensors, her brow creased with worry. Scattered around were various other experts, most of the leadership of Atlantis. Sheppard scanned the room quickly and noticed McKay, arguing with Zelenka over some topic, with both men gesticulating wildly toward the screen and growing increasingly agitated. Sheppard only caught snatches of the conversation, but the word 'Wraith' was being repeated far too many times for his liking.

"How many?" he said, not even bothering to ask what was happening.

"One Wraith cruiser a week away," Elizabeth said.

Sheppard's shoulders slumped in relief. Here he had been imagining the entire Wraith fleet. One Wraith cruiser was nothing – target practice, basically.

And yet…oh _shit_. Of course it was just one Wraith ship – for now. But when that Wraith ship either reported that Atlantis still existed, or was mysteriously shot down and failed to report, _then_ the entire Wraith fleet might well show up. The odds really did suck. Either the cruiser would discover them and destroy them, or they could destroy it, and it would send out some SOS to its Wraith buddies and have them come and destroy Atlantis.

"Why didn't the long-range sensors pick it up until now?"

"Cruisers travel faster than Hive Ships," McKay said, not looking at him. Sheppard's eyes flickered in the scientist's direction; evidently the argument between McKay and Zelenka had terminated, and now the other was muttering something in Czech as he leaned over to study some readings.

"Why now though?" said Teyla.

"Who cares?" McKay snapped, "The point is, we've got a cruiser coming and we'll be discovered either way, so why don't we think about questions are actually pertinent and - " he broke off, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh no. I think I know why the Wraith are coming now."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Teyla bite her lip and smile. He imagined he might have smiled himself. It was classic Rodney.

Back _before_, he might have teased him about that comment. Said something about how _pertinent_ it was, particularly after Rodney's little speech. Or perhaps he might have just leaned against the console, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly from Rodney to Teyla with a little smile on his face.

What came out _now_ though, was a curt, "Why?"

"The gate. The DHD," said McKay, and it clicked. Every time they dialed the gate, there was the possibility it was logged somehow, or some residue left on the control crystals. On a recent mission, they'd narrowly escaped by running through the gate, and all while a Wraith cruiser had been firing on them. It wouldn't have been impossible for the Wraith to have acquired a list of the last dialed addresses from the DHD – and even if they recovered over a thousand addresses, Atlantis' address must have surely stood out. If Atlantis were truly destroyed, then the Atlantis Gate wouldn't exist. Of course the Wraith must have considered the possibility that the address could be an old one, so they were only scouting rather than committing their full force.

There was a sudden dreadful silence in the room, broken only by a fresh round of Zelenka's Czech, and it wasn't necessary to understand the language to know precisely what he was saying. They were all thinking the same thing.

Elizabeth seemed to recover from that realization first. "Folks, that bit of information changes nothing. We still have a week to counter this threat, and I want some ideas." She looked around the room, meeting each person's eyes, seeming to impart calm and convey determination simultaneously. There was some shuffling of feet, some muttered words of agreement, and then the room was busy once more.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said quietly, and then, "Rodney, Colonel Sheppard, Teyla – with me, please."

* * *

"We're dead. We're so dead," Rodney said anxiously as soon as the door had shut behind the group. How could they have been so blind as to miss this? Of course the Wraith must somehow be able to extract information from the DHD!

Sheppard looked at him sharply, but didn't say anything. He simply followed Elizabeth's lead and took a seat.

"I thought we might bounce certain ideas better off of one another," said Elizabeth.

"You mean a military solution."

"I mean any sort of solution, Colonel."

"Look, the way I see it, we don't have much of a choice. If we don't destroy it, it'll destroy us. We'll just get it first, and then figure out something brilliant to deal with the rest. Look, at worst we'll have a good two weeks while the Wraith mobilize and begin to move against us. At best, we'll have longer."

"We have worked under same time pressures before, and we barely survived."

"But the point is that we did."

"Yes, very nice to have a persistent optimist onboard, but you're missing the point," Rodney interjected, "Focusing on the miniscule details, and missing the big picture. Your way, we just get killed a little later, but that isn't really a good solution is it!"

Sheppard's jaw tightened surreptitiously. "If your plan is to panic, then yeah, my solution's better," he said, his volume deliberately pitched low as though he were afraid to raise it.

"We still get killed, and you think it's a better plan?" Rodney said incredulously. They were going to die, as in DIE, and Sheppard's plan was to just put it off for a few more days? Time enough for some last goodbyes, and good old will writing? Oh no, that's right. Evidently they would come up with something tremendously heroic in that time. But who did Sheppard _think_ everyone was going to expect to 'figure out something brilliant'? Naturally it would all fall to him, Rodney, again, and he knew that this time he might really snap.

"Got other ideas, McKay?" said Sheppard, still keeping that disturbingly contrived smile on his face. "No? Then let's work on yours. Say, Teyla, how do you say, 'we're really screwed' in some other language? We can switch off yelling it in as many languages as we know, and maybe the different combinations will do some sort of Harry Potter spell, and we'll destroy the Wraith. Sound good?"

She stared at him.

"Oh very funny, Colonel Seinfeld," Rodney bit back, "Why don't we send you up in a puddlejumper, and you can charm the Wraith into forgetting about their intentions to – oh I don't know – _kill us all_?"

Sheppard's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward, but Elizabeth put a quick hand on his arm. The two exchanged a glance, and then Sheppard shrugged and leaned back again.

"Right," Rodney swallowed, trying to focus on something other than their impending doom. Perhaps they could even send letters home again, though he wasn't really sure what he should say this time considering that the Wraith would be at Earth once they took over the Atlantis Stargate. 'Hi, if you're watching this and still haven't had your life sucked out of you, then I sincerely apologize for what is about to happen. Good luck?' Or maybe he'd just say his speech about leadership again, because this time it'd be _really_ good, and then the world could recognize the brilliance of it right before they were all culled. Two days of fame wouldn't be too bad. It wasn't the lifetime he'd been hoping for, but since nobody would be living that long anyway, it all balanced out.

"Perhaps we could destroy the Wraith cruiser in such a way that they would not suspect our intervention," Teyla said quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous; that's – " Rodney began, and then the full implication of her words sank in. "Oh, that's good. That's really good."

"Yes, Rodney?" prompted Elizabeth.

"Just hush for a minute!" Rodney said, his mind leaping ahead. Yes, if they did – yes! But of course that all depended on if he could breach into the, but if he could, and maybe he could, but the chances were slim. How good a firewall did the Wraith have anyway? Did they even have firewalls? There had been that Wraith virus, so maybe, but it was all so inconclusive, and all so dependent on his ability to – but if it _worked_, if it could really work, then the Wraith would be fooled.

He snapped his fingers and grinned. "We hit them with a virus."

"Such as what the Wraith did to the Daedalus," said Teyla.

"Obviously, and because of that, we might have traces of theirs still on the Daedalus – the logs, maybe. If we can analyze the structure, we may be able to understand how a virus could affect the _Wraith_ systems!"

"Affect them how?" Elizabeth said, her eyes beginning to light up.

"To destroy the ship!" Rodney said. "There is incredible potential, and we could put in several, some as failsafes of sorts in case one problem doesn't do sufficient damage. We could possibly open the doors and expose the ship to vacuum, or overlo – " he stopped abruptly, his features suffusing with heat.

Sheppard had gone absolutely still, his face a mask.

The words 'overload the systems and combust the ship' were at the edge of Rodney's tongue, but irrepressible as he usually was, he couldn't find a way to say them.

Elizabeth looked between them, and nodded in understanding. "Can you do it?" she said, her tone gentle.

At the prompt, Rodney immediately launched into a rapid speech, his mouth just moving instinctively because he couldn't shake off the fact that Sheppard still, _still_, hadn't moved. "It's very difficult, a very, very slim chance of success, and we'd need to somehow bypass their security, of which we know absolutely nothing about – "

"_Rodney_."

He blew out a nervous breath. "I'll try."

"Good. Do it."

Rodney pushed back his chair – Sheppard was studiously avoiding looking at him – and left the room as quickly as he could, his haste only partially fueled by desire to avoid death.

* * *

Elizabeth cleared her throat uncertainly, her eyes flying from Teyla to John. Teyla returned her gaze, her own expression reflecting a grave concern. There were no words necessary to realize that the other woman shared the same sentiment: this was not good. John and Rodney had often bickered in the past, but it was usually a friendly sort of quipping, teasing with an affectionate undertone (though of course both men would be quick to claim that it was anything but).

Today's demonstration, however, had not been that. John had not lapsed into his usual method of subtly encouraging Rodney, prompting his mind to soar to new heights of understanding in response to superficially antagonizing remarks, and Rodney had not been responding with new brainstorms, only defensive retaliation. It had been professional, up to a certain point, at least, but Elizabeth now realized that wasn't enough. Professional wasn't how the two worked - _clicked_.

John raised his head now, but his expression was guarded. "Sounds like we've got a plan."

"We're not quite done," she answered, watching him carefully.

Teyla picked up on her cue to continue the conversation. "We still need to discuss the execution of the plan."

"We go, we load the virus, we leave," John shrugged, a trace too casually, a detail that Elizabeth didn't miss. So, he was perceptive. He knew where this conversation was headed, and it was clear that he didn't want to have it.

Elizabeth didn't want to force the conversation either, but it was necessary. Hardening her heart to that simple fact of duty, she met his eyes and said clearly, "Define 'we.'"

"A group of people."

"Colonel Sheppard," she said, very evenly.

"My team," he drawled.

Elizabeth's lips thinned. From experience, she knew how obstinate John Sheppard could be when he felt like it, and she also knew that the best thing to do now would simply be to force the issue.

"Specifically, will Dr. McKay be included?"

His eyes flickered. "Under the circumstances, it would be best should he remain behind."

The words were formal, so unlike him that Elizabeth could feel her heart lurch. There had been times when she had secretly wished to bang the two's heads together, but now that desire was stronger than ever. True, a deep rift that had opened up between them, and mistakes had been made on both sides, but they both still cared deeply for one another. If only they could open their eyes to that one simple fact, then the healing process could begin. Until then, however, they both seemed determine to throw up as many walls between them as they could, as if by separating sufficiently they could ease the hurt.

"Then who will load the virus?" she said, still maintaining their eye contact.

"I'll take Zelenka."

"Dr. Zelenka is neither trained nor experienced enough to handle such situations."

His expression hardened. "It's my team, Doctor."

She refused to yield to the distance he was attempting to open up between them, and instead reached out and touched his arm, feeling the tension running through the muscle like an undercurrent. "John," she said, not unkindly, "I wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't important, but you know as well as I that Rodney McKay is the most qualified scientist for this mission."

"Why, because he has such a good track record with making things go bang?"

She winced as if she'd been slapped, and John lowered his eyes. "Sorry."

He didn't speak for several long minutes, and she didn't dare break the silence. Even breathing suddenly seemed too loud, and Elizabeth was only too aware that Teyla's eyes were on them both – wide, alarmed.

Finally, _finally_, John gave a shrug and nodded, rising from his seat with military precision. The slouch was gone, replaced by this new tension, the rigid back and squared shoulders. "I'll see what intel I can get on Wraith ship systems."

She wanted to say something comforting, or perhaps just a thank you, but what came out instead was a nod, and, "Go."


End file.
